Mercenary
Page 26
More bullets spat past them as they reached the cleared zone. Stratton crouched low and paused on the edge to take a look. Dead and injured Neravistas littered the sunlit ground.The main sound this far behind the battle line was the groaning of the wounded.
The sound of gunfire came from ahead. Stratton continued to wait, his gaze darting everywhere, his heart pounding in his chest.
The fighting seemed to move to the left and right of their front. It suggested that the Neravistas had successfully breached the perimeter at that point and were clearing the sides.
‘The Neravistas have won through,’ Stratton said as he turned to face Victor. ‘From here on it’s whatever your goal is. You know mine.’
Victor nodded. When he looked at Stratton the man was wearing a thin smile. Amid the madness that surrounded them, the flying bullets and the grotesque screams of dying men, the Englishman’s expression had a calming effect on him. His fear remained but he could focus his thoughts.
‘Thanks for everything,’ Stratton said.
Victor wanted to say something but could not. This was a place where men said goodbye to life without a word.
Stratton looked at the Indians who understood he was saying farewell. He turned his back on them and ran across the clearing.
Victor watched him disappear into the foliage on the other side and when he was gone he felt a sudden relief. Stratton’s single-mindedness had driven Victor to levels he could never have hoped to reach on his own. Mostly it had simply meant following the man but it had always seemed as if they were heading straight into hell. Now that he had gone the pressure was off. Victor felt free.
He faced his companions. ‘Let’s go,’ he said, jutting his chin back the way they had come. ‘We made it to the camp. How I don’t know. We can go now.’
Kebowa and Mohesiwa indicated that Stratton had gone forward.
‘He’s got things he must do,’ Victor explained. ‘We go,’ he said.‘I’ve come this far. It’s enough. My conscience is clear. I don’t want to see any more dead bodies, especially those of people I know.’
Victor started back down through the forest, followed by the others. Yoinakuwa made his way to the front, moving stealthily down the slope. But as they reached the point where the foliage began to thin out Yoinakuwa stopped and held his hand out behind him to indicate that the others should do the same.
He moved forward and crouched to look through the leaves.
Victor came to his side. ‘Merde,’ he muttered.
Trudging along the track was a fresh company of Neravistas. An officer yelled an order and they came to a halt. Another command and they faced towards Victor and the rebel perimeter and marched forward.
Chapter 10
Stratton jumped through the rebel defences and over and between bodies as he made his way carefully towards the other side of the strip of jungle that formed the perimeter at that point.
He paused halfway through the strip to look ahead. Figures ran across in front of him in the field beyond. He could not make out which side they were from. Shots rang out - a distant machine gun. Some of the rounds entered the jungle and struck the trees above him.
Something grabbed his leg and he leapt back like a cat, his gun barrel traversing and ready to fire. It was a wounded rebel, lying on his back. Blood oozed from bullet holes and bayonet cuts around his chest and face. He tried to say something but the words would not come out. His eyes were filled with sadness as he reached out to Stratton for help.
It was the cruellest of choices for Stratton, but one to which he knew the answer immediately. Even if he could have saved the man, which did not look possible, he would not have done so. ‘I’m sorry, mate,’ he said. ‘I’m sorry.’
Stratton hurried on, as much to get away from the man and the feeling of guilt as to pursue his goal.
He reached the edge of the jungle strip from where he could see the interior of the camp. He made out the roof of the stables a few hundred metres away. Smoke was everywhere. Gunfire raged to either side of him but directly ahead, towards the stables, it seemed to be quiet.
As he stood to better see the ground ahead he saw several dead Neravistas lying in the grass between him and the stables. There were a dozen or so of them, cut down while advancing across the open ground. Stratton remembered a machine-gun emplacement at that end of the stables and suspected it was the source of the gunfire that had killed them.
A loud explosion nearby made him duck behind a tree. It was too big to have been a grenade and smaller than the artillery ammunition that the Neravistas had been using. It had to have been a mortar shell. Having secured the perimeter, the Neravistas were preparing to carve up the camp interior. Stratton had no time to waste.
He concentrated on solving his immediate problem, which was how to get to the stables. He considered going further round the perimeter to approach from a different direction but it would waste time and the obstacles would probably be the same.
Stratton looked for a nearby dead rebel, one whose camouflage jacket was not too bloody, and quickly removed it. He pulled it on, found a rebel cap and moved back to the edge of the strip.
A helicopter screamed overhead, banking steeply, with another close on its tail. Stratton watched as they flew to the far end of the camp where they seemed to hover low. Troops leapt out of the side doors and the helicopters took to the air again.
He took a deep breath and headed across the field past the dead Neravistas and into the open.
Louisa, daubed in blood, applied pressure to a heavily bleeding wound in a young rebel’s thigh. A woman came over to help and removed the young man’s belt, looped it around his leg above his wound and, pushing a spoon under the loop, twisted it repeatedly until it tightened around the muscle. The man winced at the pain but the blood gradually stopped flowing from between Louisa’s fingers.
A burst of machine-gun fire slammed across the outside of the house, several rounds smashing in through the window. Louisa and the woman dived to the floor. As Louisa lay there waiting for another burst she looked over at the crowd of women and children huddled at the back of the room.
Blood began to pour off the table onto the floor beside her and she sprang to her feet to reapply the tourniquet that had come undone. As she began to twist the blood-soaked belt she stopped in horror. A fresh bullet hole was visible in the young rebel’s chest. He was dead.
Louisa put her shaking hands to her face, fighting to choke back her anger, and quickly turned her attention to an injured soldier seated in a chair. Another burst struck the building and as Louisa flinched the front door flew open and a rebel fell into the room with a comrade in his arms. Louisa helped one of the women drag them out of the doorway so that the door could be closed. Then she inspected the soldiers. Both had been badly wounded. Louisa checked the pupils of the one who had been carried in, confirming her suspicions that he was dead. The other had a severe chest wound that was beyond Louisa’s skills and she placed a dressing on it for no other reason than to give him hope. She put his hand on top of it to hold it in position and went to inspect another casualty.
A helicopter flew low overhead, the vibration of its engines rattling the building, and an explosion went off nearby.
Louisa’s thoughts went to her father and she opened the door enough to look at his cabin that was partially obscured in smoke.
The sound of machine-gun fire came from across the courtyard. It was David, firing bursts from behind his sandbags.
Single rifle shots came from scattered rebels lying prone on the ground at the corners of buildings. The log table had been turned onto its side and men were lying behind it, shooting through the smoke at distant Neravistas closing in.
She looked back at Sebastian’s cabin. The smoke had cleared just enough to reveal that the door was open and her father was walking around the front. She watched him, wondering what he was doing. He headed past the end cabin and up the slope in the direction of the stables.
‘Father!’ she called out.
Louisa left the hut and as she stepped into the courtyard an explosion threw her to the ground.
She lay dazed for a few seconds before trying to get up, her vision out of focus. As she rose shakily to her knees a man was at her side, helping her.
‘Stratton?’ she asked, confused, looking into the face that was a blur.
‘It’s me, David,’ a familiar voice replied.
Louisa’s vision came back into focus. It was indeed David. Blood and black powder burns covered his hands and face. ‘Are you okay? Are you hurt?’
‘I . . . I think I’m okay,’ she said, not really sure.
‘Quickly!’ he said, helping her to her feet. ‘Come with me.’
He guided her across the courtyard to his sandbagged emplacement and they dropped to the ground as a burst of machine-gun fire raked the position.
David’s machine-gunner was lying slumped over the ammunition boxes. Louisa reached to help him.
‘He’s dead,’ David told her as he lifted up the feed tray from the M60 and placed a new belt of ammunition in it.
Louisa saw the bullet hole through the corpse’s head and lowered her gaze despondently. ‘Are they going to kill us all?’ she asked.
David cocked the weapon. ‘We should expect that,’ he said before firing several bursts. The noise hurt Louisa’s ears.
The gun jammed and David pulled up the slide to clear it, only to discover a bullet stuck in the breech.
‘Damn,’ he cursed. Without bothering to try and remove the obstruction he struggled to twist off the M60’s barrel while looking around the debris inside the emplacement. ‘Hand me that other barrel,’ he told Louisa.
She followed his gaze, saw what she assumed he was talking about, grabbed it up and held it out to him. Several enemy rounds struck nearby. David hardly flinched as he pulled the old barrel off, threw it to the floor, grabbed the spare from her grip, placed it in the bracket and in a few seconds was firing the machine gun again.
Louisa lay back against the sandbags, her hands over her ears, lost in hell.
A machine-gun emplacement at the top of the track near the side of the stables covered the approaches up from the cabins. Two young rebels manning it aimed their gun at the individual marching up through the wisps of smoke towards them. They recognised Sebastian as he walked at a brisk pace, seemingly unaware of the bullets flying around.
He was not wearing his usual civilian clothes. Instead, he had on the perfectly tailored officer’s uniform that he had taken from his wardrobe earlier. His epaulettes were finished off with gold braid, the brass buttons down the front of his jacket highly polished. The outfit was completed by a leather Sam Browne belt with its supporting strap passing over his shoulder to his waist. An ornate cavalry sword dangled at his side.
Sebastian passed the men in the emplacement with not so much as a nod and turned the corner of the building. He went to the first stall and opened the door to see his white stallion inside.
Stratton walked across the open ground towards the stables, his eyes focused on the rebel machine-gun emplacement tucked against the side of the building. He waved as he walked, holding his gun in the air, praying that those manning the position could see his rebel uniform through the smoke. He could see movement behind the sandbags and halted, ready to dive to the ground. To his relief a man stood up briefly and beckoned him to keep coming.
Stratton broke into a run towards the position and slid to the ground behind it. ‘Thanks,’ he said.
The two men in the emplacement were wide-eyed and anxious. ‘What’s happening?’ the gunner asked.
The noise of battle was not as heavy as it had been, suggesting that the Neravistas were consolidating their positions. The mortar explosions continued at random.
‘You have a radio?’ Stratton asked.
The men shook their heads.
‘The perimeter’s been breached,’ Stratton explained.
‘We thought so,’ the loader said, looking worried.
‘What shall we do?’ the gunner asked.
Stratton didn’t know what to suggest that might reassure them. With some luck the Neravistas would call for a ceasefire and they would have to take it from there. But then again, perhaps not. But he had his own problems. ‘Keep an eye on your flanks as well as to the front,’ he told them. ‘I’m heading down to the cabins. I’ll tell your commanders you’re okay and holding this position.’
They nodded but the fear remained in their eyes.
Stratton got ready to move on. ‘Good luck,’ he said.
‘You too,’ the gunner said, as Stratton headed to the corner of the building.
He stopped to look along the fronts of the stalls. He was about to move off when the door of the far stall opened and out strode the white stallion, saddled and bridled. Sebastian was riding it.
Stratton was stunned by the sight. Sebastian, his expression proud and commanding, sat stoically in the saddle as the powerful if slightly nervous animal moved in a tight circle.
A mortar exploded harmlessly at the other side of the corral and Sebastian calmed his horse with a pat and a few words. He realised he was being watched and looked over to see Stratton.
The two men stared at each other, the old warrior and the new. Sebastian drew his sword from its scabbard and held it with the tip pointed skyward, the hilt at his waist, his back ramrod straight.
Stratton was not entirely sure what prompted him, since he had not made the gesture for a long time, but he came to attention and gave the old man a solemn salute.
Sebastian appreciated the gesture. He nodded to Stratton, turned the horse and trotted away towards the cabins.
Stratton made his way around to the other side of the stables and headed into the trees.
Sebastian broke into a canter as he reached the cabins and then into a full gallop through the courtyard. He tore past the rebels lying behind cover and firing, past the machine-gun emplacement without seeing Louisa there and rode on at full speed.
Louisa saw him race past. ‘Father!’ she cried, scrambling to her feet to run after him. David leapt from his position and grabbed her. He stared at their leader, stunned.
Sebastian straightened his sword arm, held the tip out in front of him and charged into battle. Bullets flew around him but he ignored them as if lost in another world, another time, perhaps even another battle.
A government officer at the lookout post who was watching the battle’s progress through binoculars could not believe his eyes. ‘Look at this!’ he cried. ‘Sebastian rides! Sebastian rides!’
Ventura, Steel and the other officers scrambled to look.
Sebastian rode like the devil himself, seemingly invulnerable to everything that was fired at him. The powerful horse moved as though it were at one with its master.
A mortar shell exploded close to them but neither man nor beast flinched as dirt and shrapnel flew around them.
‘I knew he was mad,’ Ventura said dryly.
‘By Jupiter!’ Steel exclaimed, a look of genuine admiration in his eyes. ‘Now that’s the way to die!’
Several officers grabbed their rifles and began to take pot shots at Sebastian. But it would have taken a supernaturally lucky shot with an AK47 at that distance.
The old fighter was, however, struck by rounds from somewhere. One hit him in the chest, another in his thigh, but he held his posture and charged on. He directed his steed towards the troops who had been dropped off by the helicopter and were manning a mortar. When the officer in charge first saw Sebastian he did not know what to make of him. But as the old man and the white stallion bore down on his position he realised the threat they posed.
The mortar team scrambled for their weapons heaped in a pile around the ammunition boxes. The officer drew his pistol and began to fire a rapid series of shots. But Sebastian was to have his final moment.
As he closed the gap between the Neravistas and
himself the thunder of his horse’s hooves grew louder and the men who’d been going for their weapons changed their minds and tried to scatter. The officer had emptied his pistol clip and stood his ground while struggling to reload.
Sebastian leapt over the stack of mortar ammunition, at the same time thrusting down with his sword. A good portion of its blade disappeared into the neck of one of the soldiers and pierced down into his heart. As the horse landed Sebastian withdrew his blood-soaked blade and with the practised ease of a polo player swung it in a cartwheel motion and took away the side of the officer’s face.
He rode on past the position and made a wide turn as the soldiers scrambled to pick up their weapons. As Sebastian lined up for another charge they opened fire, all their guns on full automatic. The bullets tore into both horse and rider. The horse died as it charged, collapsing instantly. Sebastian flew over its neck to crumple in the dirt in front of it. He did not move and his eyes stayed wide open.
Applause and laughter resounded from the lookout post.
Steel seemed oblivious to the celebration, lost for the moment in appreciation of the old man’s final moment.
‘Why, Steel,’Ventura said, interrupting the American’s daydream. ‘I do believe you’re jealous of him.’
‘I am. Right up until the part where he died,’ Steel said.
The officers roared with laughter again.
‘I think we should follow his lead, though, don’t you?’ Steel suggested. ‘The battle is all but won. Let’s take a ride and get some real sport.’
‘Go down there?’ Ventura asked, unsure. ‘It’s still a little busy.’
‘Why else would we go there?’ Steel replied, downing his drink and walking over to his horse. ‘Come on, Ventura. Show me some of that upper-class disdain for danger that you think you have. You’re not gonna let Sebastian outdo you, are you?’
Ventura felt contempt for Steel’s immature challenge but shrugged and finished his drink. ‘Why not?’ he sighed.
Several others joined them in mounting their horses and the group rode off towards the rebel camp entrance.